It is neither a cult nor a club. Nor is it a secret society that grants selective membership once in five years after being presented with the right references. Nor is it something resembling a kitty party with a rotational reward structure. It is not a singularly founded organisation. It is not an organisation at all, at least not anything conventional with rules and by-laws and registered codes of behaviour. It is something more intangible than all of these, and less exclusive. I like to think of it is a counter to ‘fraternity’, a term from a more male-biased lexicon that offers its specific member gender—men—the advantages of brotherly association, often at the cost of women’s rights, freedoms and dignities. It is the opposite of that “boy’s club”. Its primary modus operandi is not purely even self-interest or profit. It is the consequence of reaching out. It is a bond established not necessarily through a common experience of victimhood. In fact, at its purest, there is an implicit recognition that no two experiences of abuse can be the same, separated as they will be along lines of class, race, and sexuality. It is the understanding that our differences can be translated into our collective strength, and our solidarity, a renewable source of energy. It is more sorority. In Latin, ‘soror’ means sister. So I choose to refer to this somewhat ambiguous, continually expanding, never static community of people as the sisterhood.